


A Nurse and A Soldier

by VogueOn



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: American Civil War, Gen, non-graphic depictions of injuries, non-graphic depictions of war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 23:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VogueOn/pseuds/VogueOn
Summary: It's 1863, Clarke is a nurse working in a Confederate hospital, Bellamy is a Union soldier recovering from his wounds.They don't get on, but when Clarke witnesses Bellamy being abducted/ rescued (she isn't sure which), they learn to see past the expensive dresses and grumpy exteriors.





	A Nurse and A Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at this so presumably i'll have made a mistake with something. I don't write, but this idea would not leave me, so here we are. I have the majority of the plot planned out and the end is sorted.  
> I'm not intending to write this as a Bellarke endgame fic, but you could definitely read it that way - the choice is yours. Other characters will appear later.
> 
> It's not going to be completely historically accurate, my knowledge of the American civil war is patchy at best, but if something is impossible please tell me! Similarly if I've missed something in the tags let me know, there's not going to be anything graphic but there are mentions of injuries.
> 
> I'm also under the username VogueOn on tumblr so feel free to message me there!

Clarke sighed as she looked at the pile of bloody bandages in front of her before gathering them into a basket. Hefting it she sidestepped the detritus of the operating room making for the door. It couldn’t really be called an operating room. There was ample light coming from several large windows, there were tables containing surgical tools and bottles of ether and chloroform, and centre stage there was a study table, all of which served its new purpose. However, until five months ago the operating room had in fact been a large study. The entire hospital was, in reality, a townhouse, chosen by the medical officers due to its ability to house a great number of patients. For many, it was a luxury after working in cramped field tent hospitals. 

The town house had been commandeered by Confederate forces and every day more wounded soldiers arrived from the fighting further north in Virginia. 1863 had already seen several bloody battles and the doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to help whoever was brought to them. 

Clarke made her way to the kitchen yard where she handed off her basket of soiled bandages. They would need to be boiled before once again being put into use. She smoothed down the front of her dress and headed back inside. It was late afternoon and she was thankful there were no more surgeries to be done today; even after three and a half months she was not used to being in such demand. Inside she saw a senior nurse beckoning her over. It was her mother.

“Here Clarke, take these, Anne-Marie has been called to help Doctor Unwin so I want you to take over her duties. Find me afterwards and we can walk home together.” A senior nurse handed Clarke paper, pen and ink and gestured down the corridor.

“Yes Mother.” Clarke watched as the other woman walked away. Her mother had an air about her that easily commanded a room. It had served her well over the years presiding over church fetes and debutante balls and now served her perfectly as head nurse. Of course, mused Clarke, her mother probably had a better grasp of medicine than some of the Doctors. Unfortunately, as a woman she had to content herself with keeping as many patients alive as she could after they had seen the Doctor. Sometimes her mother probably had to fight to keep people alive because they had seen the Doctor. 

Clarke walked in the opposite direction to her mother before coming to a stop outside a door. This room had a guard stationed outside it at all times. Inside were wounded Union soldiers. Their wounds were treated just the same, but they were prisoners of war and could not be kept with the Southern soldiers. They may all be wounded, but there was too much chance of a fight breaking out.

The guard opened the door and Clarke headed inside. There was room for six beds, although this could be increased to ten if they were pushed close together. Today, only four were occupied. The two closest to her contained men who had had legs amputated. One above the left knee and one below. When she had first started working at the hospital she had felt pity. Now, she just accepted it as a fact of war. The other two occupied beds held a man who looked to be in his early twenties, and another man who looked to be a few years older. The younger had a bandage wrapped around his head, the whiteness only served to make his pale skin paler and the bags under his eyes more evident. The older man was flat on his back with bandages wrapped around his right leg and stomach, his eyes were shut and he appeared to be sleeping. 

“Nurse?” Came a call from her left, “you writing our letters?”

Clarke moved towards the man, “Yes, is there somebody you would like me to write to?”

 

Clarke finished up the first two letters and moved onto the pale young man. He smirked at her as she sat down. “Who am I writing to?”

“What’s the name of the red haired nurse again?”

“Mary.” 

“Okay then, to Mary, thank you for getting your dress caught on the bed-frame yesterday. Come back and show me your ankles anytime. I will be receiving visitors between…”

His drawling voice was cut off by an abrupt “shut up Murphy”. It appeared the fourth man was not asleep after all. 

“You missed them Bellamy, you can’t see shit from there. Seems the ankles of southern belles are just as white as our northern girls.”

Again, the man said “shut up Murphy”.

Sensing she wasn’t going to get a proper response from Murphy, Clarke moved over to the fourth man, who it would appear was called Bellamy. Now she was closer she could see that his skin was tanned with a sprinkling of freckles across his face. His dark hair was messy from the pillow, but it looked to have a hint of curls. “I’m here to write letters for you.”

She had barely finished her sentence before Bellamy glared at her. “You assuming I can’t read or write, princess?”

Murphy snorted, “Princess? What because of the blonde hair?”

She blushed before responding coolly, “I am sure you can, perhaps you would like to show me just how well you can write lying flat on your back.” The words were a challenge, but she made no move to hand him the pen.

“Seems the princess isn’t a wallflower Blake.” Murphy was evidently enjoying the scene, it was probably more entertaining than the usual hospital talk.

It appeared that Bellamy had not heard Murphy, or more likely had not listened. “I don’t need your help, are you actually a nurse or do you just like to turn up and condescend to people you think are below you?” His words were fierce, but Clarke could see that beneath his tanned skin his face was strained. Evidently the effort of the heated conversation was draining. 

However, she was not about to back down. “I am a nurse and I could be out there helping people, instead I am stuck arguing with you about my letter writing motives. Maybe you should think about that rather than judging people.”

Bellamy couldn’t believe what he was hearing, if anyone had judged somebody it was her who had judged him. Who was she to think he wasn’t educated. “A nurse? In that dress? Don’t exaggerate.”

By now their raised voices had garnered attention. A senior nurse and two soldiers walked in surprised to see a nurse in such a heated conversation with a patient. Two voices spoke at once. 

“Blake, what do you think you are doing?” The solider from the door called out. 

“Clarke, stop this at once.” Clarke turned and saw her mother looking ashamed that her daughter had lowered herself to such a level. She loosened her grip on the paper which had become rather tight during the argument and had caused the paper to wrinkle. Her mother gestured to the door and Clarke walked out with her, followed by the two soldiers.

Once the door had shut and the room was quiet once more, a voice spoke up from the first bed. “You know that was nurse Griffin, right? Her father funds this place.”

Bellamy dropped his head back onto his pillow in frustration. He was right, a spoilt princess who got whatever she wanted. She probably used her petite stature and blonde curls to charm everybody she met. Presumably she would go running to her father and as he was stuck lying in a hospital bed he couldn’t do anything to stop the inevitable punishment that would come his way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far! Constructive criticism is welcomed.  
> (Oh and let me know if the formatting works)


End file.
